


Having Faith

by PhantomFlutist



Category: VIXX
Genre: M/M, Slavery, Suicidal thoughts/themes, brief depiction of a panic attack, religious themes (I made up a religion)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-24 00:44:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4899007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomFlutist/pseuds/PhantomFlutist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>vaguely-historical!AU; Hongbin has spent his whole life running--from his father's rejection, from the church that was once his solace, from anyone who tried to love him and anything he might love. But a young slave forces him to see the fears that hold him back and teaches him to reach for the things he desires, and to find love on the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Having Faith

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this is. I started with a prompt from the VIXX prompt generator (Ken/Hongbin > Palms) and somehow ended up with a historical AU in a country that doesn't exist with a religion that I made up, that no longer fits the prompt. I don't even care, I spent seven hours working on this yesterday and it's way longer than the 2k words I was aiming for and someone please stop me because I am trash, okay. Please enjoy.
> 
> x-posted on livejournal at my comm kpop_sisters

Hongbin shoves his way through the busy marketplace, pushing people out of his way and not apologizing. He doesn’t normally come this way, but he needs more ink before he can finish his work. He jostles a woman balancing a large jar on her head and she nearly topples over, but he doesn’t stop.

There’s a large crowd just in front of the stall he needs to access, and they’re all just standing there, watching a man who stands on a raised pedestal, speaking loudly to be heard over the din of shopkeepers hocking their wares. Hongbin stops to stare when he realizes that the man is shirtless, standing there in just his skin from the waist up, except for the elaborate beads that dangle from his neck and the lobes of his ears. His hair is short and messy, and as he waves his hands to emphasize a point Hongbin catches sight of the slave cuffs wrapped around his wrists. Ah, some sort of entertainer, then.

His curiosity and shock thus satisfied, Hongbin resumes pushing through crowd, forcing his way past gaping onlookers. He doesn’t have time for this, regardless. He has few enough days to finish this book as it is.

Even the ink seller is watching the spectacle, but he brings his attention to Hongbin when he realizes that he has a customer, attempting to talk Hongbin into buying the most expensive of his stock, as all merchants are wont to do. Hongbin ignores it, and instead selects his usual ink stones, immediately stating what price he intends to pay.

The shopkeeper acts offended, as if he would never take so little for the item, but Hongbin knows that his offer was enough for him to make plenty of profit. He sets the money on the counter and raises an eyebrow, and the merchant scoops it up and thanks him for his business, as Hongbin knew he would.

As he is moving to leave, his purchase tucked carefully inside the breast of his robe, a voice that cuts above the rest says, “A man who would buy so much ink is either a fool or a scholar.”

Hongbin blinks at the man who spoke, the shirtless slave, and wonders when he stepped down from his pedestal and came so close. Seeing him up-close he’s quite handsome, with a sharp, squared jaw and cheerful eyes. He lifts a hand to finger at one of Hongbin’s elaborate braids and the gold of his slave cuff glints in the sunlight. A valuable slave, then, who is worth not only gold but delicate engraved swirls and inset gems, fire opal and sapphire from the mines in the east.

Regardless of his worth, he is far too bold in touching a free man, and Hongbin raises a hand to slap the slave’s away, but he’s already dancing back, his eyes sparkling. “A scholar,” he trills, and tips his head back in a laugh. “A scholar who fears the schools, who chooses to do work almost demeaning to a man of his stature rather than face the possibility of censure. Fascinating.”

Hongbin feels the breath leave his lungs, because no one knows that. No one knows who he is, which house he comes from. He left it all behind, and his title with it, because of the fear that this man—this _slave_ –speaks of so easily. He has told no one these things, has not spoken a word of why he chose to be a simple copyist when he has dreams of so much more, and yet. And yet this slave knows all, his secrets, the things Hongbin dares not speak. Which means, Hongbin realizes, that the reason this slave is so valuable…is because he is a Seer.

Hongbin turns, stumbling over the loose bottom of his robes, struggling his way through the marketplace, past people he barely sees. His heart feels that it might beat its way out of his very chest and he finds he has trouble drawing breath. His sight blackens at the edges and he fingers the braids that line the right side of his head, the smooth malachite beads weaved within them, and it brings him comfort, slowly. But he will not feel safe until he is locked within his workroom, where no one can see him, where people will forget that he exists.

Inside his small apartments he locks the door behind him and presses his back against it. Slowly, he slides down until he sits on the bamboo flooring, pressing his face to his knees and willing himself to breathe. He finds the largest of the beads with his fingers, a brilliantly green piece towards the bottom of the front braid, and strokes slowly over it in time with his inhalations.

When Hongbin was young, sometime in his tenth summer, a Seer had visited his father’s estate. She had told him that his son was cursed, that Hongbin was doomed to take his own life, and that he would never inherit his father’s properties or title.

His father had been mad with grief for a time, keeping Hongbin close to his side at all hours of the day. He had held Hongbin frequently, and Hongbin remembered the damp of tears sliding through his hair, the hitching of breath inside his father’s strong chest.

But after a time, the grief had given way to his father’s practicality. He needed an heir, and if Hongbin was cursed to die young, then he would need another.

Hongbin could still taste his ten-year-old self’s spite when Sanghyuk was brought into their home. He was Hongbin’s half-brother, the son of a whore, and he was in no way a suitable heir. But Hongbin’s mother was dead, had left this world bringing Hongbin into it, and his father believed that he had little enough time left that remarrying and trying to bring another child into the world was impractical. The child would not be old enough to take on the responsibilities of a noble, or his father’s position as High Minister in the royal court.

Sanghyuk was eight, and he was small and cheerful and his nose took up half of his face and Hongbin hated him. He didn’t understand why Sanghyuk was there, only knew that when the younger boy arrived, his father no longer held him. Tutors saw to his lessons and Hongbin no longer sat in his father’s study during the day, carefully copying his letters with brush and ink. There were no more cheerful walks in the garden, his father pointing out the choicest blooms for him to examine.

There was only jealousy as he was herded away by nursemaids and tutors whenever his father drew near, Sanghyuk trailing behind him in _Hongbin’s_ rightful place and answering inanely when his father asked questions that Hongbin had known the answers to since he was three summers old.

When he was twelve, Hongbin was taken to the temple for his induction into manhood. As the legitimate son, his father still had to do these things for him, for his reputation’s sake. But still Hongbin cherished the ceremony, being close to his father, being touched by him again after nearly two years bereft.

He might have continued to live the way he had been, absolutely devastated by his fall from grace, had it not been for that ceremony. But at the end, when the priest put his hands on Hongbin and spoke from the tenets of the temple, he had found something to latch onto.

_“Submit yourself to the Creators as to your parents; for they are Father and Mother, and they bestow upon you peace and prosperity, life and love. He picks you up when you stumble and guides you on the correct path, and She folds you to her blessed breast, offering safety and forgiveness. Go and live in Their grace.”_

Hongbin looks up to see he’s still on the floor in his apartments, the moving shadows indicating that much time has passed. He struggles to his feet and to his worktable, setting the package of ink stones there, staring for a moment at the half-finished manuscript that he was copying before all of this happened. _All of this,_ that was quite an understatement. Where did he even begin losing control? When his father replaced him? When he came fully to faith and chose to join the temple? When he left it just days before he was to be inducted as a priest?

He touches the beads in his hair again. Each smooth stone represents one of the tenets of the Creators. It was customary, in the training of initiates, to braid one into their hair every time one of the tenets was memorized and fully understood. He lifts the grouping of braids and counts them: sixty-four beads for the sixty-four tenets of the Creators, each carefully picked by his mentor. He remembers Taekwoon’s quiet intensity as he wove the beads into Hongbin’s dark locks, and the words that he gave him, when the final one was in place.

_“Creators be with you, Hongbin. Wherever you choose to go.”_

Hongbin had thought, at the time, that Taekwoon referred to the position he would take after his ordination. But then the next day he’d found out that Taekwoon had left the church, that he’d found love and disappeared. Suddenly, he knew that Taekwoon was telling him it was alright if he couldn’t do it.

Taekwoon had known about the nightmares, about Hongbin’s hand-shaking terror at the thought of being forced to follow the rules of a senior priest, of being left to languish in a small country temple. He’d known that Hongbin wanted more.

The temple had been an escape, but it had outlived its usefulness. Hongbin left, and rather than enter one of the schools, to become a scholar and live under the thumb of someone else, he began taking work as a copyist, using the skills he had learned as a nobleman’s son in a way that his father never would have approved.

But in spite of leaving the church, Hongbin has never had the courage to remove the beads. These small pieces of malachite mean that should he ever decide to go back, they’ll welcome him with open arms. As long as he wears them, as long as he remembers the tenets, he has a place there.

He’s afraid that if he removes them, he’ll never find another place to belong.

\---

Why is he back here? He has nothing to buy, and the messenger that will bring another manuscript is due to arrive later in the day, but somehow Hongbin finds himself fighting his way through the marketplace again, feeling like a fool.

A Seer started all this mess, but he wonders still…is his fate the same as it was? Or has he managed to change it, by joining the church, by leaving it? He wonders if it’s so simple to change one’s fate, or if it takes an act of faith. If it does, he failed that when he chose not to be ordained, for if anything were an act of faith, surely it was that.

The pedestal is still there, but empty. Behind it sits a small, deep green tent. The flaps are closed, though the day is blisteringly hot, and Hongbin stands in front of it for a moment, examining trim that may once have been white and wondering what he thought he was going to achieve by coming here.

He has just resolved to go back home and stop with this nonsense when the tent flaps open and a young woman skitters out, followed by the handsome slave, who pauses at the sight of Hongbin standing there. A smirk slowly slides across his features. “I knew you would return,” he says, his voice light and factual. “Come.”

He holds back the flap, and Hongbin hesitates only for a moment before ducking inside. He’s come this far, he may as well see what the slave has to say.

“You should not be so quick to disregard people because of their social standing. A slave can be more valuable than a king, and a noble can quickly fall from grace. You of all people should know that.” The man’s voice is still even, and he doesn’t seem terribly offended, though he apparently knows even what Hongbin is thinking.

“How did you—“ is all Hongbin manages to splutter before the slave is taking over again.

“Have a seat.” He waves grandly at a silk pillow behind Hongbin, set on top of an elaborate woven rug that runs the length of the tent. The flaps are closed, and the space is surprisingly cool, in spite of the day’s warmth.

For lack of anything else to do, Hongbin sits. He watches the slave go about serving tea, setting a ceramic cup in front of Hongbin that has an orchid painted in exquisite detail on one side. When Hongbin lifts the cup he finds it cool to the touch and the tea the same, though it’s still fragrant and pleasant on the palate, with an aftertaste that feels as though it’s numbing his tongue just slightly. He sets the cup back down and waits for the slave to speak.

His slave cuffs glinting in the candlelight, he lifts his own cup to his mouth and takes a long draught, and when he lowers it again he’s smiling. “I don’t hear thoughts, by the way,” he says. “Sometimes I get a vague impression of what someone is thinking, but I would not be able to repeat anything you think. I’m afraid it’s not such a precise art.”

Hongbin feels some relief in that, though he finds himself fingering the large bead on his first braid. “What do you want from me?”

The slave spreads his hands, as if to remind Hongbin of where they are. “You came to me. Either you were looking for answers, or I’m just that irresistible.” He strikes a pose like he’s showing off his good looks, and the lengthened shadows inside the tent give him a darkly handsome aura.

Hongbin looks away. “Look, you—“

“Jaehwan,” the slave interrupts. “My name is Jaehwan.”

Hongbin blinks, because he hadn’t been asking for that, but he supposes that it works as well as anything. He can’t really refer to him as ‘slave’ to his face. He’s heard people do it, and finds it distasteful. The church teaches that the Creators love everyone equally, man or woman, slave or free. Following the customs of social position and treating other humans as objects are two very different things.

“Jaehwan, then,” he acquiesces. “I just….” But he stops, because he doesn’t know what he wants. He’s not exactly sure why he came here, or if he wants to know his fate. He picks up his teacup to give himself time to consider.

“You’re afraid,” Jaehwan finishes for him. That’s not exactly it, but Hongbin figures it’s true, so he stays silent. “You want things that you’re afraid to reach for.” He reaches across the low table and picks up the bead that Hongbin had been fiddling with. “These mean everything to you, but they also represent a life that you left behind. You chose between your faith and your independence, and independence won. But you feel guilty about that, because you still love the church and its teachings, so you continue to wear these in penance.”

Hongbin feels frozen, as if all his limbs have locked in this position and he cannot move. He was worried that this would happen, that Jaehwan would tell him all the things that he couldn’t bear to say even to himself.

Jaehwan’s hand drops, the beads clinking together as he continues softly. “You want to return to your father’s house because you love him, but you believe that he retains no love for you, and so you stay away. You want to be an author, not a copyist, but being published involves becoming a scholar, and you fear losing control of your own life.”

His teeth gritted, Hongbin begs, “Stop. Please stop. I know all this, why do you insist on telling me.”

Jaehwan’s eyes go soft, and he gazes at Hongbin with compassion. “I know what it means to fear what you desire, Lee Hongbin. There is no shame in it.”

Hongbin stares at his hands, long fingers gripping the teacup too tightly. His choices have only ever made things worse. He should never have walked into his father’s study that day. “I only wish to know…there was a seer, a long time ago. I want to know if the things that she saw are still true.”

“Ah, you refer to the prophecy that you would take your own life?” Jaehwan’s voice is still gentle, as if he fears Hongbin breaking at the words, but he did not sugar-coat them, which Hongbin appreciates. He waits as Jaehwan’s eyes seem to lose focus, aimed somewhere above Hongbin’s left shoulder. “Hm,” he says at length, “I see misfortune and pain in your future, but also joy. I see…a brother, whom you love very much, being reunited with you after a long time away.”

Hongbin cannot say a word, though Jaehwan is silent for several minutes, still staring at nothing. He cannot think of whom Jaehwan could possibly be speaking. He has no love for Sanghyuk, who is the only brother of which he has any knowledge. If there is another, Hongbin has no desire to know.

Finally, Jaehwan gives the most brilliant smile Hongbin has ever seen, his white teeth shining like the beads at his throat. “You’ll find love, in someone who lights up the parts of you that are dark. He’ll teach you to reach for the things that you desire in spite of the fear, and you will give him solace and speak the tenets of the Creators into his flesh.”

Swallowing hard, Hongbin asks, “But what about my death? Do you see my death?”

Jaehwan blinks a few times slowly, his face disturbingly blank, and then replies, “I see a group of aged men crying over your fresh grave. One of them wears malachite in his hair, but is clad in the clothing of a commoner, and not of a priest.”

 _Taekwoon,_ Hongbin dares hope. And if Taekwoon is an old man in Jaehwan’s vision, then Hongbin has many years left to live. Whether he takes his own life or not matters little if it’s that far in the future. That is a relief he cannot help but embrace. Perhaps there is hope for him after all.

Jaehwan’s eyes focus on him again, and his smile is back in place at once. “You have good in your future. _The Creators bestow peace and prosperity, life and love._ They would not give such a fate to such a devoted servant.”

The words of the tenets are jarring, spoken in this place. It starts an ache in Hongbin’s chest that he’s not sure what to do with. “But I gave up my discipleship. I turned away from their love.”

“These say differently.” Jaehwan’s hand once more sneaks into Hongbin’s hair, shaking the strands lightly so that the beads clink together. “Everyone worships in their own way, Lee Hongbin.”

Perhaps he’s right. Or perhaps Hongbin simply wants to believe it because the alternative is too horrible to consider.

\---

Hongbin works mindlessly for three days, copying manuscripts without properly seeing them. He hopes that his work is impeccable as always, but he finds more ink stains on his hands and clothing than he used to, and he knows that he needs to get himself put together properly if he’s going to avoid losing clients. Few enough of the reputable authors use his services as it is, and he can only handle copying so many clandestine romance novels before he starts to get uncomfortable.

When he finishes the final book, he goes to deliver them and collect his pay, and on the way back he finds himself making his way towards the marketplace. He tells himself that it has nothing to do with a certain pretty Seer with an absent master. He only wishes to consider a new hat. The sun has been painful of late.

But when he’s standing in front of a deep green tent with the flaps thrown wide open, he admits to himself that perhaps he wanted to see Jaehwan again, to ask him further about the things he’d seen.

Jaehwan ducks out of the tent, his shorn hair covered with a headscarf and a light robe hiding the tanned flesh of his chest and shoulders. When he sees Hongbin he stops short, and he bites his lip, seeming to consider something. Eventually he speaks. “I’m afraid I was about to run some errands for my master. Would you be willing to wait?”

Hongbin contemplates this. He has three additional books in the satchel at his waist that he needs to work on before it gets dark, but he also doesn’t want to go home without talking to Jaehwan. “I’ll accompany you,” he decides, ignoring the way Jaehwan’s eyes widen in surprise. “I have some shopping to do myself.”

Jaehwan nods his assent and they set out together. If he notices that Hongbin only fingers a few goods and makes no efforts to buy anything as they walk, he doesn’t say a word. In fact, they don’t speak at all while shopping, except to the shopkeepers themselves. What conversation could they possibly have that would be appropriate for a slave and a free man to have in public? So Hongbin waits, examining Jaehwan’s face more than the merchants’ wares, until he has finished his purchases and they return to his tent.

Safely inside, Hongbin feels he can speak, but suddenly he’s not sure where to start. His brother, whom he supposedly loves? The lover that he’ll find? The things that that lover will encourage him to achieve? There are too many questions, and suddenly he finds that the cause of his death is the least of his concerns. It’s an odd feeling, after so many years of it resting so heavily on his mind, always at the back of his awareness. _Perhaps this will be the day,_ he would often think, _perhaps today I’ll decide to end myself._ He cannot deny that it was tempting, at times.

“A riding accident,” Jaehwan says abruptly, in the middle of making a fresh pot of tea. He holds the lid of the pot in one hand and a handful of brightly colored herbs in the other. As Hongbin watches, a few leaves separate from the rest and fall to the ground. Jaehwan tilts his head, his eyes going unfocused again. “You were training a new stallion, though your nephew begged you not to. He said the horse was too wild, but you insisted that you could handle it. The horse threw you and you snapped your neck. It was quick and relatively painless, but your lover and your family were devastated. You were only sixty.”

Hongbin lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Dying at sixty surrounded by family was a much more merciful death than dying alone with less than twenty summers behind him.

Jaehwan comes back to the present and frowns at the tea he’s dropped, throwing what’s left in his hand into the pot and retrieving more. “I apologize,” he says, sinking down onto the cushion across from Hongbin to wait for the tea to steep. “I usually have more control than that.”

“It’s alright,” Hongbin insists, waving it away. He has other curiosities. “You mentioned a nephew. Am I to believe that I will reunite with Sanghyuk?”

“Your half-brother?” Jaehwan thinks for a moment. “Yes, I believe you will, in some way. But you will never have as much love for him as you have for your true brother.”

“My true brother?”

Jaehwan nods, a tiny smile crossing his lips as he elaborates. “The fond memories of him permeate your very being. You hold him in very high regard, and he will always cherish you, no matter the choices you make.”

 _Taekwoon._ Hongbin’s heart clenches at the realization. _That wasn’t the last time I’ll see him._ “What about my lover?” he leans forward eagerly, suddenly wanting all the information Jaehwan can give him.

Jaehwan seems hesitant with this subject though, and he allows himself to study Hongbin for several long moments before he speaks. “You will find him in an unexpected place. But love from unexpected places is often the most fulfilling. You respect his wisdom, though he thinks himself a fool. And you’ll rescue him from a fate he’s resigned himself to.” The note in Jaehwan’s voice is odd, and he ducks his head, avoiding Hongbin’s eyes.

“Jaehwan?” Hongbin asks softly.

Jaehwan jolts like he forgot that Hongbin knew his name and looks up guiltily, his eyes bright with something that is not mirth.

“Would you like to be free?” It seems like such a simple question, with a simple answer. Doesn’t everyone want to be free? Even Hongbin, who is a free man, is seeking freedom from something.

Jaehwan’s next breath is a sob, and his response, when he gives it, is choked like he’s dragged it out of himself at great cost.

_“Yes.”_

\---

Hongbin hasn’t been through this gate in nearly ten summers, but it still looks the same as he remembers. The stone path through the gardens to the house is still impeccable, and Hongbin gently caresses the leaves of the cherry tree as he passes it. In the spring it used to be beautiful, all covered in pink blossoms and fluffed up like a cloud. Now it’s hanging low with heavy fruit, nearly ready to be harvested.

There’s a servant waiting at the heavy oak door that leads into the main house. She pushes it open for him at once. He’s both welcome and expected.

The front hall is cool compared to the outdoors, and Hongbin doffs his headscarf as he nods at the servant who comes to lead him through to the study. He knows where he’s going, has had these halls memorized since he could walk, but he allows the servant to stand on formality.

His father’s study has changed some, with more books and artifacts on the shelves than he remembers, but it’s still the same room, still smells of knowledge the way Hongbin has always thought he imagined. But the man behind the desk is not the same, and the realization is like being stabbed.

“Sanghyuk,” Hongbin says stiffly, levering a brief nod to the younger man. Regardless of Sanghyuk’s position now, Hongbin is still a noble, still the legitimate son. He has every right  
to be here and refuses to let Sanghyuk push him from his rightful place.

“Hongbin!” Looking up from his paperwork and rising, Sanghyuk comes to greet him with a hug, which Hongbin endures but does not return. Sanghyuk doesn’t seem to notice. “It is good to see you.” His face falls abruptly. “Only I wish you had returned sooner. Father is ill, and I’m rather…lost.” He scratches his head, a sheepish smile on his face, and Hongbin can’t help but think of how _young_ the other man still is. Has he even reached his eighteenth summer yet?

“How old are you now?” Hongbin asks, turning to casually browse the bookshelves. His father is ill, and Sanghyuk is taking care of his affairs. Hongbin fails to see how this involves him, though the aching in his chest insists that he’s a liar.

“Ah, I’m just eighteen. My birth anniversary passed only a few weeks ago. I wish you had been there.” Sanghyuk has so much energy, so much joy. He bounces next to Hongbin in an undignified way, and Hongbin can’t help but be offended that he was passed over for _this boy,_ prophecy or not.

Turning from the bookshelves, Hongbin finally admits, “I should visit Father.”

Sanghyuk bounces once more. “Of course! This way.” He waves a hand and leads Hongbin out of the room like he didn’t live here for a good portion of his life. It just makes him dislike Sanghyuk more.

His father’s room is dark and quiet, and he lays in bed breathing heavily, like every expansion of his chest is like pushing a boulder up a hill. He’s become so thin, his skin pale and papery against the bed silks.

Sanghyuk approaches him first, pressing a gentle hand to the older man’s forehead and then wetting a cloth in a basin waiting at the side of the bed and pressing it to his face and neck. “Father,” he says softly as he works, and Hongbin can see the effort it takes to remain calm in the face of his excitement. “Hongbin has come.”

His father, in spite of being feeble, pushes Sanghyuk’s hand away and attempts to sit up. Sanghyuk helps at once, propping him up with pillows until he’s comfortable. “Hongbin,” his father is already saying before he’s settled, “Come, let me see you.”

Hongbin joins Sanghyuk at the side of the bed and takes his father’s questing hand. A choking lump climbs up his throat and heat pricks at his eyes. “Hello, Father.”

His father chuckles, and then breaks off to cough for several wracking moments. Sanghyuk offers him water to sip, and when he’s recovered he says, “So long away and that’s all you say to me. Do I mean so little to you?”

Hongbin blinks back the tears that are threatening to fall and replies, “I wasn’t sure if I would be welcome.”

“My son,” he says, and Hongbin never thought it would be so painful and joyful at once to hear those words. “You belong here.” He looks pointedly at the braids in Hongbin’s hair, the beads that glint in the soft glow of the candle Sanghyuk has lighted. “No matter where else you belong, you will always belong here.”

Hongbin laughs, and it feels freeing, just as the tears that begin to spill over feel freeing. “I didn’t join the church,” he says, because he thinks his father ought to know. “I left before my ordination and have been working as a copyist ever since. You’d be very disappointed in me.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” his father replies. His hand squeezes Hongbin’s weakly and he orders, “Sit,” so Hongbin does. He reaches up with his free hand and fingers slowly through the braids. Hongbin knows what he’s doing—he’s counting the beads, to see if Hongbin finished his training—so he sits very still, reveling in the ability to be near his father again without reprimand. When he finishes sifting through all sixty-four he pats Hongbin’s cheek and then his hand drops tiredly back to the bed. “You are my son,” he says.

The rest of the tears make themselves known, and Hongbin only barely bites back an undignified sob. He is not Sanghyuk. He is a noble, was raised a noble, and has never forgotten that, no matter where else life has taken him, or how much he wanted to forget.

All is quiet, and Sanghyuk has slipped out of the room, so Hongbin just sits, letting the tears flow, seeing the wetness in his father’s eyes to match. “You are my son,” he repeats, “and I am sorry. That I drove you away and made you think that you were not welcome. I was afraid, afraid to lose the thing most precious to me once again. But my own fear took you from me after all.”

Hongbin shakes his head, the beads tinkling and making his father smile slightly. “I needed to go where I have in order to become the person I needed to be. And now I am ready to return home, if you’ll take me.”

“Your place is waiting for you,” his father promises.

Hongbin wonders what Sanghyuk will think of that, but then he hears from the hall, “Oh _thank the Creators!_ I am not made for this job!”

The laughter feels good, and Hongbin thinks that maybe he doesn’t dislike Sanghyuk as much as he thought.

\---

It’s been more than a week since Hongbin has been to see Jaehwan, but he made a promise that he can fulfill now, and he’s returning to do it.

The tent flaps are closed when he arrives, so he waits impatiently, refusing to bounce on his toes like Sanghyuk and expelling immense effort to achieve it.

Soon enough the flaps open and an older man comes out with Jaehwan trailing behind, his head down and none of his usual bravado on his face. This must be his master then, and Hongbin steps forward immediately, asking carefully, “Excuse me, are you the Seer’s owner?”

The man examines him carefully with one eyebrow raised. He looks as if he’s attempting to look down his nose at Hongbin, though Hongbin is more than a head taller than him and it mostly makes him look laughable. “I am. What do you want with him? You need your fortune told?”

Hongbin shakes his head, reaching into the folds of his robe and withdrawing a silken purse. “Actually, I’m interested in purchasing his services permanently. Will this be sufficient?” Hongbin knows exactly how much gold is in that purse, knows that it’s an exorbitant sum even for a slave as valuable as Jaehwan, and knows that the man knows it as well as soon as the purse is set in his hand. He would be a fool not to take it.

“Of course,” he says at once, not even taking a moment to consider it. It’s more money than Jaehwan could earn him in five years at least. It’s more money than Hongbin has ever held in his life, until a week ago. He thinks he might be crazy. “Let me just retrieve his paperwork.” He returns the purse to Hongbin just long enough to dash into the tent and return with a small leather satchel. Inside are various ownership papers and a small golden key.

When Hongbin sees that everything is in order he leaves the purse with Jaehwan’s former owner and asks, “May I borrow a candle as well? I just need it for a moment.”

Jaehwan is staring at him, absolutely bewildered by this turn of events, no doubt already seeing what Hongbin has planned. But he seems equally bewildered by Hongbin’s appearance, the fine silk robes that have replaced his homespun clothes and the jewels he wears on his ears and around his neck. The only thing that hasn’t changed is the malachite beads woven into his hair, though they’ve been recently polished and glint almost blindingly in the bright sunlight.

When the man comes back with the candle, Hongbin thanks him cordially and holds out the piece of paper declaring Jaehwan an object. He watches with relish as it catches fire in the flame of the candle and begins to turn to ash. He does the same with all the papers, watching them all go up in smoke and scatter on the wind.

There is only one thing left that stands between Jaehwan and his freedom, and when Hongbin takes up the golden key Jaehwan freezes. He stands gaping like a fish for several long moments before he asks, “Why?”

Hongbin smiles at him and reaches for the slave cuffs, removing them and throwing them down in the dust. All that gold, the delicate engraving and the gemstones, they couldn’t make up for what they were. “Because I wanted you to be free to push me away when I did this,” he says, and then he takes Jaehwan by the nape of the neck and pulls him forward, pressing their lips together.

Jaehwan gasps, his lips fumble for purchase against Hongbin’s, and finally he wraps his arms around Hongbin’s waist and pulls him close, refusing to let go even when they have to part for breath. “I did not see this coming.”

“Don’t lie,” Hongbin chides, stroking his fingers through Jaehwan’s short hair. “You knew exactly what you were doing, telling me how great my lover would be. I expect you to deliver, by the way.”

Jaehwan shivers, a pleased little curl on his lips. “Anything. Everything, as long as you keep touching me.”

Hongbin laughs, pressing it into Jaehwan’s neck. “I’ll worship gladly at your body,” he whispers to the curve of Jaehwan’s ear.

Jaehwan shivers again, and Hongbin thinks he would like to spend the rest of his life teasing these little tremors out of him, seeing what other reactions he can elicit.

\---

Sanghyuk is delighted at having another brother. And, of course, he and Jaehwan get along well, and it is the bane of Hongbin’s existence. But he’s happy here, like this. He has his family and his lover, and he’s begun his studies at the Royal Academy. The only thing that’s missing is Taekwoon.

But Hongbin should have known that Taekwoon would make himself known when he felt it was time.

When the days are short and the air crisp and the snows litter the ground, the Lee estate gets unexpected visitors. The maid insists that there are two priests at the door, and when Hongbin tells her that that’s _not possible,_ because the brothers never visit an estate without an invitation, she cowers and whimpers an answer that Hongbin can’t make out. Honestly, whoever decided it was funny to tell the new servants that Hongbin is a cruel master is going to get a reprimand.

Hongbin is fairly certain that it was either Jaehwan or Sanghyuk, and considering Jaehwan had just recently been complaining about his rear end being ‘abused’ by Hongbin, he’s willing to put money on it being him.

“Repeat that,” Hongbin sighs at the maid, who with a slightly less tremulous voice manages to get out that the men had hair similar to Hongbin’s, and suddenly he is far more interested in who this visitor might be.

He’s up and going for the door before he’s thought about it. Just before stepping out of the tea room he realizes that he is a noble, and that nobles do not go rushing out into the snow to greet people who might or might not be their long-lost brother.

Jaehwan smirks at him from the sofa, his eyes bright and excited. “He’s getting impatient~” he sings, teasing Hongbin, who makes an abrupt decision that he doesn’t care about propriety at the moment.

Taekwoon has somehow made his way past the gate and is halfway up the path when Hongbin makes it outside. He’s wearing shoes but no coat, and he practically launches himself at Taekwoon as soon as he’s near enough, wrapping himself around the older man, listening to their beads clinking together and feeling like, after all this time searching, he’s finally home. He has his family, his dreams, Jaehwan, and now Taekwoon.

“It’s good to see you, little rooster,” Taekwoon murmurs, using his childish nickname for Hongbin. “I heard that you finally found your place.”

Hongbin nods, reveling in the jingling, remembering all the times before that he hugged Taekwoon just like this. “Took me a while, but I did. And now that you’re here it’s finally complete.”

Taekwoon chuckles. “What is?”

Hongbin shakes his head. That’s a long story, but they have time. Hongbin has at least forty summers left before the accident that will take his life, and knowing Jaehwan he’ll find a way to change Hongbin’s fate yet again.

“Can we go inside? It’s freezing out here.” A head pops out past Taekwoon’s shoulder, a man with shockingly red hair, braided along the left side of his head and pulled into a long tail at the back.

Taekwoon turns to him, and the expression on his face as he looks at the red-haired man is the same one Hongbin has seen on Jaehwan when he catches him staring, and on Sanghyuk when he looks at his fiancée. This man is very clearly the one that Taekwoon left the church for, and Hongbin can tell he doesn’t regret it.

Love is always worth it in the end. And as Jaehwan is fond of telling him, love found in unexpected places is often the most fulfilling. He thinks, as he leads them into the house and to the tea room where the others are gathered, that he has found perhaps the most love in the most unexpected places, but Jaehwan is right, because this is the most fulfilled that Hongbin has ever been.

He presses his palm to Jaehwan’s, curling their fingers together and holding tight, laughing at the joking between his lover and their friends, and wonders why he would ever have wanted to end himself before he was given this.

\---

_“’The Creators bestow peace and prosperity, life and love. To Their devoted servants They give abundant blessings, to Their loyal servants They grant forgiveness of transgressions. Hold to Their tenets and They will hold you to the promises of Their covenant. Serve Them in mortal love and live with Them in eternity.’_

_“And finally, go out and proclaim Their grace to the earth, and serve each other as you serve the great Creators. Only in the giving out of love can a man receive more.”_

~Excerpt from “Tenets of the Creators for the Common Man” by Lee Hongbin

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry. I still don't know what this is. But um...half naked Ken and Hongbin with that hair make up for it, I hope? I honestly had no plans here. What happened to cheesy palm reading and Ken/Hongbin fluff? How did all of this plot happen?


End file.
